


Serenade

by afrai



Series: Lieder [2]
Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke, Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell (TV)
Genre: Banter, Courtship, F/M, Headcanon, Pre-Series, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 07:41:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4598472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrai/pseuds/afrai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An account of Jonathan Strange's courtship of Arabella Woodhope. Basically a "what if Jonathan and Arabella were characters in a Georgette Heyer novel" fic! (2/4)</p><p> </p><p>  <em>By seven-and-twenty Jonathan Strange had run through more enthusiasms, attitudes and philosophies than most people have in a lifetime.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Serenade

By seven-and-twenty Jonathan Strange had run through more enthusiasms, attitudes and philosophies than most people have in a lifetime. For half a year he experimented with being a woman-hater. He did not call it an experiment himself. It was his encounter with a lady named Marianne that gave him the idea.

She was a clever, worldly, politic young woman he had met at Weymouth, and she had shown every sign of accepting his attentions till she had thrown him over for a man with an estate in Jamaica. Jonathan's rival was not young, good-humoured, handsome, charming or intelligent. The only virtue he possessed was that of vast wealth. Jonathan had liked Marianne very much; it was painful for him to see this unsuspected cynicism in her, and it so embittered him that he declared he could never trust a woman again.

He held to his resolve to shun all women for a time, giving up dancing, of which he had previously been fond, and cleaving to the company of men. But it had now been six months and his friends believed he was due to emerge from this distemper.

Jonathan, of course, strenuously denied that his woman-hating might be no more than a passing freak. He had assured all his friends, believing it himself, that they might henceforth look upon him practically as a monk (though he practised none of a monk's other austerities). But half a year is a considerable time. Jonathan was in fact beginning to feel that it might not be excessively embarrassing should his friends be proved right, and he begin to find some pleasure in the company of the fair sex again.

Of course, he could never love again! But there was nothing wrong with friendship. Strange possessed a talent for friendship with women that one does not often see in gentlemen. Having been educated with his cousins Margaret, Maria and Georgiana Erquistoune, he had been accustomed to dealing with females as persons since childhood. Before Marianne, he had enjoyed the company of women even when he had no wish to flirt with them.

At the close of his six months of monkishness, he found himself in Bath, a city he particularly liked, and he was not there for long before he received an invitation to a dance. For the first time in half a year, Jonathan decided to accept the invitation. He had not seen his friend Webb in an age, and it would be discourteous to refuse, he told himself. After all, he need not dance, or speak to anyone.

The Webbs were just the kind of people he liked: independent-minded, cordial and discriminating. Jonathan found he was pleased to be at the party when he was shown into their drawing-room. The first thing he saw was Arabella Woodhope, sat upon a sofa, deep in conversation with Mrs. Elizabeth Webb.

Arabella was always at her best when animated, and her face was lit with laughter. Her dark eyes and translucent complexion looked especially fine in the golden light from the candles. Her dress was not expensive, but it gave the impression of perfect neatness and taste, which was all such youthful beauty required to ornament it. A brown lock slipped out of its restraints and fell across her face.

Jonathan particularly noticed the hair: it was so pretty and shining in the candlelight, such a true burnished dark brown. Marianne was blonde.

If anyone had asked Strange five minutes ago if he recalled Miss Woodhope, he would have said that she was a pretty country girl, all the more charming for her rural simplicity. But here was Miss Woodhope apparently at home in the most citified setting. He was struck by her graceful self-possession: a poise that was neither pushing nor affected, nor self-conscious in the least. She addressed the assiduous gentlemen and fine ladies around her with friendly ease and fluency. She might have been in the parsonage at Clunbury, with Henry Woodhope — and himself.

It may be presumed that Strange was not slow in claiming Miss Woodhope as an old friend. She received him with unfeigned delight.

"What an unexpected pleasure!" she cried. She had been in Bath for the past month, and was staying with the Webbs, for it seemed she had known Mrs. Webb at school. "Have you come from Shropshire? How is Clunbury, and everyone in it? Henry says the old oak by Mr. Barnfield's house was struck down by a storm. Have you seen it? Has Mrs. Hyde decided upon a name for her baby? And is Captain Ayrton really to be married? Henry says the engagement is confirmed, but how Captain Ayrton could ever have brought himself to speak at sufficient length to a lady as to propose, I really cannot imagine!"

Jonathan was equally incapable of imagining Captain Ayrton's proposing marriage to anyone, for he found himself unable to summon any recollection of Captain Ayrton at all. It seemed horribly likely that he ought to know the name. 

"He was very sorry he could not oblige — nothing would give him greater pleasure than to satisfy Miss Woodhope's curiosity, but he must confess he was quite unequal to the task."

"Oh, the fault is mine!" said Arabella. "I was so delighted to see a familiar face that I forgot such trifling gossip could hardly be of universal interest, least of all to Mr. Jonathan Strange. You will have been occupied with affairs of far greater import, of course, sir."

This was said demurely enough, in a tone that made light of the speaker. But there was a sparkle about Arabella's eyes and mouth that made Jonathan feel uneasily that she was not only laughing at herself.

"I confess I have hardly been at home for the past six months," he said. "I have been travelling around the country a great deal."

"And when you are in Shropshire, the affairs of your estate must keep you very busy," said Mrs. Webb.

"No, I cannot claim they do," said Jonathan. "My father is fond of being busy himself and he allows me no hand in running Ashfair. It is just as well. I find such matters tedious beyond belief. The only thing that could bore me more is farming."

"But surely, Mr. Strange," said Arabella, "these matters must be of interest to you, when you consider that the wellbeing of your father's tenants is dependent upon them. You must be anxious to ensure the good administration of the estate, if only on that account." 

It had never occurred to Strange to wonder about the wellbeing of his father's tenants, much less to be anxious about them. But he felt at once that his father's tenants ought to have been the chief of his concerns.

"Why, yes," he said, in some confusion, "of course."

He did not know what to think of Miss Woodhope at the end of this exchange, for she had not shown him to himself in any very flattering light. Indeed, he began to wonder if it had not been unwise of him to depart from his resolution to keep away from parties and women. Yet when, a few minutes later, Miss Woodhope's attention was drawn off by another gentleman, Jonathan was more put out than ever.

The gentleman monopolising those large brown eyes was built along such lines as to make any other gentleman suspicious of him. To all the advantages of a tall, well-made figure, smooth gold hair, and the classical features of a Greek statue, he joined a red coat and a civil, quiet manner. His manners would have been no more than gentlemanlike in a less handsome man, but they were remarkably pleasing in such an Adonis. 

Mrs. Webb confirmed to Jonathan in a low voice that the Adonis' name was Captain Norbury, of the —th regiment, and she fancied he had a liking for her young friend. It would be a good match for dear Arabella. To be sure, he was not rich, but then neither was she. The most delightful creature, but she had not a penny in the world!

Jonathan did not like the look of Captain Norbury. Doubtless _he_ passed his every waking moment reflecting upon the plight of those less fortunate than himself, but a fellow with that face could not have a sense of humour. That would not suit Miss Woodhope at all. She looked a creature that liked to laugh.

He thought he might watch over the course of this courtship, since Henry was absent. Jonathan was not altogether certain Henry would approve of the man — and after all, Henry was one of his oldest friends.

* * *

Strange had been in a fortnight in Bath and spent nearly half that time in Miss Woodhope's company, for the Webbs' house seemed to have an irresistible attraction for him. No doubt it was the pleasure of meeting a countrywoman, though Jonathan had never shown much interest in his neighbours before.

The Webbs quizzed Arabella about him, as well they might, but Arabella passed this off lightly:

"Oh, he has known Henry since they were boys, you know! I do not take his attentions as a compliment to me. You may be sure they are not intended as such."

"Miss Woodhope, no gentleman in the world takes so earnest an interest in a young lady merely in compliment to her relations," said Mr. Webb.

"Well," said Arabella, smiling as at a secret joke, "perhaps Mr. Strange enjoys the getting up of a flirtation. I believe he is rather bored. He is really too clever to be left to himself, with no occupation but that of spending his inheritance."

"Why does not he then find some occupation?" said Mrs. Webb, but Mr. Webb said:

"Surely Strange is adopting the most sensible course for a gentleman of his birth and wealth: to have a great deal of pleasure, and never worry himself about anything at all. Miss Woodhope may frown at me, but he is only doing what any gentleman would do, if he possessed Strange's advantages."

"But it is Mr. Strange's very advantages that he is throwing away," said Arabella. "Say what you will, Mr. Webb, I believe you would be far less happy could you not be as useful and active as you are. Anyone with ability must wish to use it for the benefit of others."

"It seems to me Mr. Strange is exerting his abilities to great effect," said Mrs. Webb, raising her eyebrows at her husband. "I admired his ingenuity in contriving to gain an invitation to Lady Brereton's party, once he heard you would be there. I had thought he had offended Lady Brereton dreadfully, and she had sworn she would never speak to him again, so he must have been very clever to have persuaded her to change her mind."

"He was rewarded for it," said Mr. Webb, casting a teasing look at Miss Woodhope. Arabella had danced twice with Mr. Strange.

She coloured. "I ought not to have agreed to the second dance! It is so delightful to speak to him about Henry, and he insisted — but he is not to be taken seriously, I assure you. Henry always said Jonathan Strange was the most changeable creature he ever knew — perpetually taking up and abandoning enthusiasms. You know I am not the kind of creature to pretend false modesty, to draw my friends on to quiz me. Truly, I do not think he means anything by his attentions, and I am sure he should stop them at once if he suspected that anyone believed he saw me in any but a — a _fraternal_ light. Apart from anything else, Mr. Laurence Strange would never countenance his son's marrying any but an heiress."

Mr. Webb murmured that if Mr. Strange, who had £800 a year from his mother, were to allow his father to dictate his choice of a wife, it would be quite unlike the high-spirited, warm-hearted, self-willed young man he knew. 

But Mrs. Webb shushed him. She had a great desire for the connection, for she thought Arabella's charm and Mr. Strange's income an ideal fit. Certainly he was not so handsome as Captain Norbury — but then he had more money, and stood to inherit a fine estate.

Since Miss Woodhope seemed determined that it was impossible that Mr. Strange should ever consider her in that light, however, Mrs. Webb had no wish to annoy her by disagreeing too stridently. She fancied Mr. Strange was quite capable of persuading Arabella of the seriousness of his intentions on his own. The interference of others was as likely to thwart him as to help.

But Arabella possessed armour of which Mrs. Webb was not aware. She had always been reluctant before to be parted from Henry for too long, and Henry from her, but an event a few months ago had for the first time made it seem to Henry that Arabella would benefit from a change of scene. It was this that had led Arabella to accept her friend's invitation to stay with her in Bath.

The event had, Arabella supposed, been a flirtation, though she blushed at the thought. She would not have objected to having been party to a flirtation if she had realised this was what it was at the time. But she had not been prepared by her education to regard the marked attentions of a handsome young man as signifying nothing, and Henry had not discouraged the acquaintance, for the gentleman in question had seemed perfectly eligible. He was a friend of their neighbours, a gentleman of independent means with a house in London. He was only in Shropshire for a short time, but still the weeks seemed to a man of his tastes to move exceedingly slowly, and he was pleased to be diverted by so charming a young lady as the curate's sister.

Of course, nothing was further from his mind than the forming of any serious connection. He told himself the penniless sister of a curate could not be so unworldly as to think he meant anything by his calling upon them every day, or his singling her out at every dance and dinner. He rode away after a month feeling Shropshire had been better entertainment than he had thought to hope, his conscience untroubled.

She had been fortunate, Arabella told herself later. It was only her pride that was hurt, for her recovery was so complete that she saw she could never really have been in love. But she took the lesson to heart. It caused her to shrink a little from handsome, amusing gentlemen who sought by light-hearted conversation and gallantries to draw a smile from one. It had suited her faithless beau to see Arabella brighten at his appearance, and part from him only with reluctance. Well! She had the measure of such men now. She would not be bamboozled again.

Really she thought she might not marry at all. She could easily imagine herself keeping house for Henry in their old age with perfect contentment. In the meantime, however, she was resolved to enjoy herself in Bath. 

Captain Norbury she had no fear of: he was almost too handsome to trouble her — "He might almost be a painting rather than a man," she said to Mrs. Webb. And he was so gentle and good no one could suspect him of being a flirt. She did not encourage him, but she did not put him off with too much energy either.

"You had better be on your guard," said Mrs. Webb — this was before Mr. Strange had appeared upon the scene — "or Captain Norbury will have you falling in love with him before you know what you are about. It is always these quiet men one must be wary of!"

"If he is capable of persuading me, that will be an end of it. I never quarrel with myself," said Arabella lightly. 

But she rather thought she would not be so easily conquered. Mrs. Webb did not know quite how decided (Henry would have said stubborn) Arabella could be.

* * *

Jonathan did not in fact have any clear intentions of the sort suspected by Mr. and Mrs. Webb. His chief aim at this time was to impress Miss Woodhope, and he was kept in a perpetual irritated froth by the impossibility of this.

The trouble was not that they ever ran out of things to say to one another. For Arabella possessed one great virtue her brother lacked: a sense of humour. She dearly loved to laugh — and certainly, Jonathan reflected with complacency, he had had no small success in drawing out that laugh. But rather less to his self-satisfaction, he was almost equally proficient in provoking her, though he never intended to. 

He did not know why it was, but somehow in Miss Woodhope's presence he was always stumbling into unfortunate remarks. He was sure he never did this with anyone else — or perhaps other people simply did not make him aware of how unfortunate his remarks were. Jonathan scarcely ever thought before he spoke; it had always seemed unnecessary before, but with Arabella he seemed always to be making comments that he was not sure really represented his opinions.

There was the matter of the phaeton, for instance. A gentleman of Jonathan's acquaintance had found himself urgently in need of funds. Dyment was being dunned for debts of honour, but his father had no heart to speak of, he said, so he was compelled to sell his smart yellow phaeton and a pair of bays of which he was sinfully proud.

Jonathan did not particularly want a phaeton and pair, but he must sympathise with anyone with a difficult father. The fellow looked so harassed that Jonathan offered to take the phaeton off his hands, at a truly astonishing price. He thought Miss Woodhope might be impressed by his generosity and he therefore recounted this story to her.

But Arabella only looked perplexed.

"It was good of you to oblige your friend," she said, "though it is a pity he should be in such want, when it might so easily have been avoided. I hope all your friends do not gamble, Mr. Strange … ? What will he drive now?"

"He still has his curricle. I do not believe he ever drove the phaeton, any more than I am likely to."

"But why did your friend have a phaeton if he did not drive it?"

"Ah, well," said Jonathan without thinking, "he purchased it for a lady of his acquaintance, which was foolish of him, to be sure, for when she decided he was not to her taste ... " 

He broke off in horror, for the lady had of course been a demirep, and the story he had embarked upon was one wholly unsuitable for a young lady bred in a parsonage. 

"That is to say," he said, "she found _it_ did not suit her taste — the phaeton did not. It was a cousin — she was, I mean — his cousin."

Arabella said, laughing, "Why should it be foolish for a gentleman to seek to please his cousin? To be sure, he ought to have ascertained her wishes before going to such expense. But I suppose he wished it to be a surprise."

Jonathan was still in a state of some confusion. He was not a skilled liar and he began to blunder by elaborating upon his deception. For it is a cardinal rule that for a lie to succeed, it must above all be simple.

"Oh well, you know," he said, "he bought it because she was particularly fond of driving. I sought to dissuade him. I told him there are vanishingly few females that can keep a decent seat on a horse, and even fewer who can drive without making a menace of themselves. I warned him his generosity was likely to end in the overturn of both the gift and the woman — the cousin."

He spoke entirely out of a wish to divert the subject from his friend's peccadilloes, and did not give much thought to what he said. All the same his speech seemed rational enough to Jonathan. But a brilliant colour rose in Arabella's cheeks. She said with spirit:

"Now, Mr. Strange, I cannot let that stand! How ungallant to blacken the names of all the horsewomen in the country! You should know I am accounted a fair whip in Clunbury."

Jonathan stared. "You?"

Perhaps his surprise was forgivable. Tip to toe, Arabella stood only a little higher than his shoulder. He had just been thinking, in general terms, that a woman need not be _too_ tall: there was something particularly pleasing about a woman one would need to bend down to kiss. Arabella was no delicate miss, given to headaches and fainting fits; she looked as lively and vigorous as any healthy young woman, but she certainly did not look capable of controlling Dyment's bays. 

Therefore he laughed, and sealed his fate.

"If you do not credit me, why! There is a simple means of settling our disagreement," said Arabella. "I presume you still have the phaeton your friend sold you?"

Jonathan made a fatal error. He said, "I drove it here this morning."

"Then there is no better time than the present!" declared Arabella. "You need not rush off, Mr. Strange? Then I propose to give a demonstration of my abilities. If you are in a temper to repeat your aspersions against driving females afterwards, then you may, but in justice you must permit me to defend our honour! I wager you will eat your words!"

At any other time Jonathan might have taken up her challenge, but he was thinking uneasily of the bays. They were young; they had a considerable amount of _frisk_ ; and Jonathan had been hard put to it to govern them himself when he had driven over to the Webbs' that morning.

"I do not think — " he said. "I mean to say, the horses are very spirited." 

"Very good. There is nothing I like better in the world," said Arabella. "I will lay you a _guinea_ that I drive as well as any gentleman of your acquaintance. Of course, we need not make the trial if you are afraid … !"

A quarter of an hour later Jonathan found himself perched upon his new phaeton next to Miss Woodhope. It was a position he did not dislike, but he should have enjoyed it altogether better without the apprehension of what was to come next. If they were upset Henry would certainly blame him. He was not sure but what Henry would be right to do so, though surely Jonathan could not have been expected to know that Miss Woodhope would fly out so at his speaking slightingly of women who drove.

He looked at the lady wistfully. It did not seem possible to explain that he had been speaking quite at random. He had not meant any insult to women as drivers of phaetons or as horsewomen in general, nor to Miss Arabella Woodhope in particular. He had been happily driven by his cousins Erquistoune in their barouche any number of times.

"But why did you say all of that nonsense?" she would ask him, and then he would have to tell her the truth about Dyment and his mistress, which was unthinkable, or invent another reason for saying things he did not mean, and that was bound to be a disaster. No, it was most politic to remain silent, though it was bitter to swallow the fact that he had certainly gone down in her esteem.

How well Miss Woodhope looked! She sat with the reins in her hands, back straight and whip at the ready, the image of youthful grace. The moment all was ready she cried to the dubious coachman, "Thank you, Rowsell!" and drove off at a cracking pace.

Arabella handled the reins with a great deal of style and dash. These arose not only from her evident skill, but from her equally clear delight. Jonathan could easily imagine her rattling through the country lanes around Clunbury, but he was distracted from this attractive picture by the startling speed with which the shops and houses of Bath flew past.

He was about to venture to ask whether Miss Woodhope did not think they were going rather fast when Arabella turned to him, her eyes shining. She seemed to have forgotten all her vexation.

"How I have missed driving!" she cried. "Bath is delightful, but one goes so _slowly_ in town, do not you think?"

"Certainly," said Jonathan earnestly. He would have agreed with nearly anything Miss Woodhope said while she looked at him in that fashion, but even his complaisance was threatened when she took a turn with alarming _elan_.

But he was rescued from having to make any protest to a young lady he had no wish to displease, for around that corner was Mrs. Redmond, peering into shop windows with a friend. Though Jonathan did not know it, Mrs. Redmond was a friend of Arabella's, a most respectable matron, and the Woodhopes had great hopes of what her husband might do for Henry.

She knew Arabella at once. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes turned into perfect O's. She tugged at her companion's arm, but by then Jonathan and Arabella were gone.

"Good gracious!" Arabella cried. "That was Mrs. Redmond!"

They had run through the most populated streets of the city. She checked the horses and slowed to a sedate pace, looking as though she had woken from a delightful dream and did not at all enjoy the waking.

"Do you think she saw us?" she said.

"I do not think I know Mrs. Redmond," said Jonathan. "But all of Bath was stretching their eyes at us. It would have been remarkably unobservant of her to have missed us."

He was not really attending to what he said, or he might have been more reassuring. Arabella was flushed from her exertions, and there was a sheen of perspiration on her upper lip. Jonathan wondered what it would be like to push her back and bite down on her lip. The fancy was so vivid he could almost feel the warmth of her shoulder under his palm, her breath on his cheek, the taste of salt on his tongue —

"I ought not to have done it!" exclaimed Arabella. "But then you were so provoking, Mr. Strange! I could never have held up my head again if I had not taken up the gauntlet. I am only sorry that it will upset Henry."

Despite the lightness of her tone, she was so troubled by what Mrs. Redmond would think and what her brother would say that she was uncharacteristically quiet as she drove them back to the Webbs'. 

Jonathan did not speak much either. The violence of his reaction had startled him. He gazed unseeing at the streets they passed, thinking of his dinner.

Despite himself his joint of mutton occupied only the uppermost part of his mind. The rest of it was deeply engaged in other matters altogether. The only clear thought that emerged, like a gold coin shining in dark waters, was that he must bring a guinea to the Webbs' tomorrow — if only to see how Miss Woodhope would look at him.

* * *

"Mr. Strange!" Arabella exclaimed. 

For a moment she looked as though she could not decide whether to laugh or be vexed, but fortunately laughter won out. 

"I will certainly not accept your horrid guinea," she said. "Indeed, sir, it is hardly civil of you to remind me of my confusion."

"Your confusion!" said Jonathan. "It is a token in homage of your triumph."

"You would not say that if you had heard the lecture Mr. and Mrs. Webb read me," said Arabella. "Or seen the letter I shall receive from Henry. That he will give me a most deserved scolding I cannot doubt! Poor Henry! I cannot forgive myself for adding to his trials."

Jonathan was surprised to see her taking a harmless frolic so seriously, and he said so. "After all, it is not as though you ran anyone over, or upset us — which is more than I should have done if I had had the reins."

"It must seem silly to you," said Arabella ruefully. "But it will not do in town. Elizabeth said so, and she ought not to have needed to remind me. What no one would bat an eye at in Shropshire will be looked upon with suspicion here in Bath. And who could blame them? How could anyone fail to wonder about a lady who chooses to ride alone with the fascinating Mr. Strange?"

"Fascinating, am I?" said Jonathan, smiling.

Arabella coloured as though she had said more than she intended. But she said with composure:

"I speak, you know, of how you are generally regarded in society here!"

Jonathan said in a low voice, "But how am I regarded, _specifically_ , by … ?"

"It is your sitting up next to me that Elizabeth will never forgive!" said Arabella quickly. "Henry will not mind that so particularly, for he knows you. But he will not like Mrs. Redmond's seeing me — and that I should have so disgraced myself by giving way to my temper."

Jonathan had never seen this stern fraternal aspect of Henry Woodhope, and he thought Arabella was enlarging too much upon a trifle. Henry certainly knew him and would know there had been no harm in the incident. Dismissing Henry, therefore, he said:

"Why should Mrs. Webb object to me? She must know I am an old friend of the family."

"Oh, it is not that that Mrs. Webb objects to you," said Arabella. "She likes you a great deal. It is only that she is afraid Captain Norbury will — " She stopped and blushed. 

After this Arabella would not be drawn further, but retreated into a forbidding correctness for the remainder of Jonathan's visit.

He left the guinea behind him, though Arabella declared she would give it away. 

"That is your prerogative," said Jonathan, "since it is yours."

He was in fact a little distracted, though he could not have said why.

* * *

Jonathan's odd mood continued the next day. He was out of temper, had a poor appetite, and could not settle to any of his usual pursuits. He snapped at his servants, who gave each other significant looks: none of them had missed Mr. Strange's frequent visits to the Webbs', and it was only a question whether it was Miss Woodhope who drew him there, or Mrs. Webb. 

(At a new kitchenmaid's exclaiming at the scandal of Mr. Strange's wooing a married lady — a lady married to his friend, at that — Strange's valet said, with a superior air: 

"You have got the wrong end of the stick, my girl! Mr. Strange would never do anything shabby by a friend, but these clever gentleman are often whimsical." All of Mr. Strange's staff were persuaded of his cleverness, though he had done little enough to show for it. "Mr. Strange likes nothing better than to go off his feed and write poetry on account of a lady that is forever out of his reach. Since he thought of marrying the last female, it is likely to be the one he cannot marry that he has conceived a passion for this time. He does it by turns generally."

But though Payne prided himself on his ability to read his master's moods, he was out for once.)

Jonathan himself wondered if he might be unwell. He thought of going to the club, but he could not bear the thought of making conversation with the fellows there. He did not think of going to the Webbs' again. Miss Woodhope had given him to understand that they would be out all day, and even if they were at home, she might think it odd if he appeared three days in a row.

He had accepted an invitation to a ball that evening. He was in no mood for it, but having agreed, he felt bound to go. "He need not stay for very long. He would go so that Mrs. Millier could not reproach him. He could always slip away early."

His sentiments underwent a revolution, however, when he turned up at Mrs. Millier's to discover that she was acquainted with the Webbs, and therefore Miss Woodhope was present, watching the dance with a bright eye and tapping foot. 

She was very pleased to be led out by Jonathan. Though she would not dance with him again, he forgot to be ill-tempered or restless in the interest of watching her dance with others, and then he had the opportunity to address her twice more in the course of evening. He did not leave the ball too late. One o'clock is a perfectly reasonable hour to return from a party.

It might seem scarcely credible that Jonathan was still unaware of the reason for his queer mood. But it must be recalled that Marianne had been for him a grand passion. He still vaguely thought of himself as wounded forever — wholly incapable of loving again.

But the position must in time have become evident to him, as it had to his servants and the Webbs. 

("I came as close as I have ever done to being cross at Arabella for having behaved so shockingly the other day," Mrs. Webb confided in her husband. "But it does not seem to have done her any harm with Mr. Strange."

"He will end by marrying her, if he has any sense," said Mr. Webb. "Miss Woodhope is vastly more agreeable than any of the other ladies he has liked."

"Oh, I think in this matter Mr. Strange is quite as sensible as you could desire," said Mrs. Webb. "The only question is whether he will manage to persuade Miss Woodhope to agree!")

Jonathan was not long left in doubt about his own mind. Since his restlessness persisted, it struck him that taking the waters might be as good a cure as any — he was, after all, in Bath. He was in the Pump Room, gazing into the distance and thinking of nothing in particular, when he became aware of a dialogue in progress between two gentlemen behind him. He did not recognise their voices, nor, looking back discreetly, did he find he knew their faces. He was about to lapse into his daydream again when one repeated the name that had caught his attention.

"So Norbury is set upon marrying this female? What did you call her — Woodford?"

"Woodhope. Arabella Woodhope, that is staying with the Webbs."

"Who are her people?"

"No one in particular. Her father was a curate in Herefordshire or Wales or one of those sorts of places. She has no family save a brother, who is another clergyman. No money, of course."

"What can Norbury be thinking? He might have had Miss Thompson and her twenty thousand at a snap of his fingers. Is this Miss Woodford pretty?"

"Oh! Moderately. I think Miss Thompson at least her equal."

"Then what can be the attraction?"

"You know Norbury has curious notions! He says all sorts of wild things. She is good and amusing and clever, and he is in love."

"That is all very well, but he might have arranged to fall in love with a woman of substance. Why, he has nothing in the world but his pay. He is such a good fellow one could wish to see him on better terms with the world. His friends would be well-advised to contrive an excuse for him to leave Bath for a time. Perhaps an invitation to shoot … ?"

"Do not trouble yourself on his account! Norbury would not accept an invitation from the Prince of Wales till he has brought it off. His friends had best reconcile themselves to the match. I expect to hear it announced any day now. She is a charming girl, there is no denying that. I have no objection to anyone's paying her attentions. It is only that Norbury can never take these matters in their proper light. It is all or nothing with him!"

Jonathan's first thought was to wonder whether he ought not to call the fellows out. After all, he practically stood in Henry's shoes as regards Miss Woodhope, and he was certain Henry would not have liked to hear his sister so discussed by fine gentlemen. But upon reflection it occurred to him that it was unlikely Henry would propose to duel the gentlemen. Likely the activity was forbidden to men of the cloth. That being the case, Jonathan could not see any basis for his doing so.

This put him out to such an extent that he finally began to wonder at the warmth of his own indignation. Everything the gentlemen had said of Miss Woodhope was only the truth, save that she was only _moderately_ pretty. But perhaps the speaker in question suffered from a defect in his vision, and was more to be pitied than censured.

But it was not what he had said of Miss Woodhope that rankled. It was his declaration that she would marry Norbury that could not be allowed to stand. Miss Woodhope could not marry Captain Norbury. Miss Woodhope ought not to marry anyone but — Jonathan Strange!

Jonathan was not as dismayed by this discovery as one might imagine, given that he had announced only six months ago that he would never love again. In fact he felt more easy directly.

It was the most natural thing in the world that he should have fallen in love with Miss Woodhope. She was so evidently superior to every other lady of his acquaintance, and they were so eminently suited in every way to ensuring each other's happiness. He was only surprised that he had not fallen in love with her before. Reflecting upon their previous encounters, Jonathan was inclined to think that he could not have been such a very stupid fellow as not to have noticed Miss Woodhope. Surely he must have liked her at once. In fact, he was certain he had. 

By the end of half an hour, Jonathan was well on his way to persuading himself that he had been in love with Arabella Woodhope for as long as he could remember. It was clear she would make anyone, but most of all himself, an ideal wife. The only question was how soon he might ask her to marry him. 

He concluded that he would have to wait a little longer. He could not help thinking she liked him very much: she had the sweetest way of smiling almost despite herself when he contrived to divert her. But he had often surprised an uncomfortably steely glint in Arabella's eye that suggested she would not consider mere _liking_ a sufficient basis for marriage, if it were not joined to esteem. 

Of course, there was no reason she should not esteem him. He had vexed her a little with his aspersions against female drivers, but he had made ample recompense for that. Though she had never said anything in express criticism of Jonathan's pursuits, he knew she did not admire the fact that he passed all his time in visiting, drinking, gaming and other forms of dissipation. 

But these were all pursuits that were easily surrendered. He was young enough, tolerably wealthy (with hopes of more), and she had called him fascinating. Jonathan was of a sanguine disposition. He saw no reason to despair.

* * *

"My dear, what can Mr. Strange have done to offend you?" said Mrs. Webb.

"Offend me? Why, nothing."

"Then I cannot make you out," said Mrs. Webb. "You are become abominably rude to him."

"Am I?" said Arabella. She half-smiled. "Well! I do not think it does to be too civil to gentlemen like Mr. Strange. They are far too accustomed to being given their own way."

"He certainly need not expect to have everything his own way with you," said Mrs. Webb. "I have never known my dear Arabella to be so contrary. But do you know, I believe Mr. Strange rather likes it!"

That Mr. Strange liked everything Arabella said and did could not be denied. His attentions were now so marked that no one could be in any doubt about the nature of his interest. Though Arabella affected not to take him seriously, she was in truth dismayed.

Mr. Strange had as yet declared nothing, but a man so transparent as Mr. Strange need not speak to make his opinions known. He paid so many visits, was at such pains to please her (when she did not make him cross), and permitted himself to be caught gazing at her in open adoration so often that it was impossible for her to doubt the sincerity of his attachment. 

It was very wrong in her not to have put him off before. But how could she have guessed that Mr. Strange might grow seriously attached to her, with whom he had been acquainted all his life — who had none of the charms of wealth or novelty to recommend her?

She strove to comfort herself with the thought that Mr. Strange would soon grow bored of the chase and forget her. It was necessary for her to remind herself of this, for truth to tell, Arabella suspected herself of being in serious danger of liking him back.

She had no intention of allowing herself to grow attached. There might be no objection to the match from a worldly perspective, at least on her side, but Arabella believed she could assert without falsehood that she cared little for the world's opinion. There were a great many real, sensible reasons why she ought not to allow herself to love Jonathan Strange. Delightful as he was, he was not a man to whom she could safely entrust her happiness. He had no occupation; to all appearances, no religion; and no evident capacity for fidelity. Indeed, everything she knew of him suggested he was incapable of remaining constant to any one thought, interest or passion, but was ever moved by the whim of the moment.

For him she could be nothing more than such a whim. Certainly he liked her — she would not do him the injustice of believing him cynical, for Mr. Strange was _not_ that — but he was one for whom ardour was not lasting. His passion would not endure once they were separated again, he to return to his various friends and pursuits, and she to her quiet life in a quiet village.

Examined with an objective eye, he was not so different from the other gentleman she had known. In fact she would struggle to name any point in which he differed substantially from the other. Like Arabella's faithless suitor, Jonathan Strange had no need or desire for an occupation; he possessed all the usual interests of a fashionable gentleman; he was practised in gallantry and possessed a fund of entertaining conversation; and he danced well and with evident pleasure.

There was one saving grace Mr. Strange did possess: that he had a heart Arabella could not doubt. He would not wish to break hers. He would believe himself as much in love with her as she with him … until he changed his mind.

Arabella had resolved that she would never be made a fool of again. Therefore, despite Mrs. Webb's best efforts, she was unable to extract any promise from her friend that she would be more civil to Mr. Strange.

"I am sure you know best," said Mrs. Webb finally, sighing. "It seems a hazardous policy to me, but then you have been acquainted with the gentleman all your life. Still, my love, if you must snap at Mr. Strange, you might be kinder to Captain Norbury. You cannot say _he_ always has his way. A gentleman in the Army never does, for he is at the mercy of his superior officers, and must be put to all sorts of inconveniences at war. And then he is not like Mr. Strange, you know. Your being so cold quite wounds him."

At this reproach Arabella lost her mirthful look. She said sorrowfully, "I am sorry for it! But it would wound him more were I to pretend to entertain his attentions."

"You never said they were unwelcome before."

"I did not — " Arabella paused and crimsoned. "It is disgraceful in me. I am ashamed to confess it. But to own the truth, I should not have minded liking Captain Norbury. He is so good and handsome, I am sure anyone would wish to fall in love with him. But do you know, he bores me!"

"Oh!" cried Mrs. Webb. "To be sure, Captain Norbury is not amusing …. " But she cut herself off, as it occurred to her to consider who was amusing, and whether _his_ suit would be assisted by her defending his rival.

"And I have a dreadful suspicion he does not understand me," said Arabella. A smile flitted across her countenance. "I believe he thinks me nearly perfect! Now you know, Lizzy, I am really full to the brim of original sin. It would be a shock to Captain Norbury to discover it, I believe, though I am sure I have never sought to deceive him about myself."

There was one who was not deceived about this aspect of Arabella, and it was Jonathan Strange. He did not know Arabella found Captain Norbury a bore; indeed, after Mrs. Webb's reproof, she began to be more cordial to the captain than ever. Though Captain Norbury himself discerned a constraint that Miss Woodhope had never before exhibited in his presence, Jonathan saw only the warmth — so strikingly different from Miss Woodhope's use of him, for it seemed he could say nothing without provoking a flat contradiction from her. 

He thought often, wistfully, of her reception of him when he had first arrived in Bath. How warm she had been! He regretted having had nothing to say of the Hydes and the Ayrtons and all the people in whom she had shown such an interest. Perhaps he might then have taken better advantage of her warmth, for that early friendliness was quite gone. 

Instead:

"Has Captain Norbury called?" Jonathan might say, having bumped into the fellow outside the Webbs' house and exchanged looks of burning dislike with him; and Miss Woodhope would respond, quite as though she wished to drive Jonathan mad:

"What a gentlemanly creature he is! And I believe he is nearly as much of an angel as he looks. I have never seen him touch a drop of alcohol. He abhors gaming and any form of dissipation. His attention to his aged parents is admirable, though I believe Mrs. Norbury is often very trying, and of course his devotion to his country cannot be doubted."

Arabella only heaped such fulsome praise upon Captain Norbury because of her guilt on his account. She had failed to discourage him, just as she had failed to discourage Mr. Strange, but unlike Mr. Strange she did not believe Captain Norbury would soon forget her. 

But Jonathan was not to know this. His chief outlet during this time was his correspondence with his cousins in Edinburgh. Margaret, Maria and Georgiana were accustomed to receiving confidences regarding Jonathan's love affairs. They knew not to credit everything he said in his letters. But all the same he painted such a picture of Miss Arabella Woodhope that when they eventually met her — under a different name, though it was not so many years later — they were astonished to find her a most agreeable girl, nothing like the priggish gorgon Jonathan had described.

* * *

One morning Payne mentioned in passing to his master that Mr. Laurence Strange was encountering some trouble in his business affairs. His famously vexed relations with his neighbours had thrown up some obstacle to a plan of improvement upon which he had set his heart.

Jonathan had been gazing absently out of the window as Payne busied himself with perfecting the folds of his neckcloth. He had been thinking of that blasted Captain Norbury and his blasted devotion to his aged parents. Of course his blasted mother was trying. She could not even have the decency to be agreeable. There was no virtue in being devoted to an amiable mother.

"My father wishes to expand his grounds, do you say, Payne?" said Jonathan. "I do not see why he should not. In fact, I ought to go to Ashfair to help him, do not you think?"

Payne was so bemused by this that he did not ask what form of assistance his master thought he could render. In an hour they were packed and ready to depart from London. They called on the Webbs on the way, but Miss Woodhope was not at home.

Mr. Laurence Strange did not omit to ask what assistance his son proposed to offer. The conversation resulted in Jonathan Strange's storming out of his father's study in a huff, with no very good opinion of himself — but an even worse opinion of his father.

"I may be a useless fellow," he said to no one in particular, "but at least I am not a — a _barbarian_!"

This was a relief to his feelings, but the relief passed when it struck him that Miss Woodhope would not have approved of his so describing his father.

Jonathan considered his course of action. He could return to Bath, but it came to him that there was one thing he desired more than to give Miss Woodhope another opportunity to contradict him. He saddled up his horse and rode to Clunbury.

* * *

"Why, Jonathan, I had not thought to see you in Shropshire till the Season was over," said Henry Woodhope. Jonathan had come upon him while he was pottering in his garden, but he rose with every sign of pleasure at seeing his friend. "Have not you been in Weymouth?"

"I have been in Bath."

"Quite right. I had forgotten. Arabella mentioned you were in Bath. Have you seen her recently?"

"Yes," said Jonathan, scowling, "I have seen your sister."

"How is she?"

"Oh, she is everything that is delightful!" Jonathan picked up a stick and began poking a heap of earth in which Henry had just planted a sapling, while Henry looked on with anxiety.

"Jonathan, I beg you will be careful — "

"Miss Woodhope is in perfect health!" said Jonathan, jabbing at the soil as though it had offended him. "Nothing troubles her! She has dozens of acquaintance. She never goes out in town without seeing someone she knows, and she has a kind word for everyone — that is to say, almost everyone!"

"I am glad to hear she has friends. Yet I hope she is not growing too dissipated," said Henry. "I was concerned by this report of her driving about in town. Jonathan, you did not put her up to it?"

"What? Oh, that!" Jonathan rolled his shoulders, as though to shrug off the memory. "That was nothing! I do not know why it should cause you any concern."

"Of course you are a friend of the family, but Bath is not to know that," said Henry. "It must have looked very bad to Mrs. Red — to those who did not know her, or you. Arabella ought to think of how society is likely to look upon these matters. She must remember how delicate is a woman's reputation for virtue."

"Really, Henry, you are enlarging upon a trifle," said Jonathan. He threw away his stick, to his friend's deep relief. "You need not worry. It would take a fool to accuse Miss Woodhope of being _fast_ , and no one would believe him. She is in excellent air with all of Bath — besieged by the most respectable admirers — and she is equally civil and friendly to all!"

He spat this out with such disgust that Henry stared. He was accustomed to Jonathan's being something of an eccentric, but this outburst seemed odd even for him.

"Has Arabella offended you in some way?" said Henry. "I know she is often forthright, but you must know she means nothing by it. If she has caused affront I am sure she would be anxious to make amends."

"Offended me?" said Jonathan. "No, she has not offended me."

He ran his hands through his hair, walked once around the garden, and said:

"Henry, you will have guessed all." 

In fact Henry had guessed nothing and was in a state of utter bewilderment. But he attempted to look intelligent, since this seemed to be expected of him. 

"You will not be surprised when I tell you that I wish Miss Woodhope to be partial to _my_ suit!" declared Jonathan. "But I am at a stand. I do not know why it is, but I seem incapable of persuading her to look kindly upon it, or me. In fact I can scarcely speak without making her cross."

Henry was in fact surprised, but he passed quickly from astonishment to delight, for the eligibility of the match was not lost upon him. In justice to Henry, his sister's happiness was as important to him as any other consideration, but he was not as doubtful as Arabella of Jonathan's ability to make her happy. Strange was a clever fellow; Henry knew his heart to be warm; and if he was flighty, Arabella would give him steadiness. Mr. Laurence Strange would not like it, but then Jonathan was not wholly beholden to old Mr. Strange, since he possessed an independence from his mother. Nor was it in Mr. Strange's power to keep Jonathan out of his estate when he, inevitably must pass on — an estate which would ensure that Arabella would never be in want.

As he meditated on the problem of Arabella, however, Jonathan seemed to forget that he was addressing the lady's brother. 

"She is the most wretched — lovely — delightful — maddening creature!" he exclaimed. "Impossible to please! Incapable of being anything but pleasing!"

"Really, Jonathan!" said Henry, his initial pleasure evaporating. He was too serious-minded and just himself to allow for the lover's divine inconsistency. "I do not think I speak out of brotherly partiality when I say you are the first I have ever heard declare my sister difficult to please. Everyone agrees she is nothing if not good-humoured."

"And how many of these people who find her good-humoured have desired to marry her? I think they would find her far less easy to please!"

"Well," said Henry, embarrassed, "I could not say."

Jonathan had clearly thought his question a rhetorical one. He rounded upon Henry, rather wild-eyed, exclaiming:

"There are others? Of course there are others. I suppose they have all got yellow hair and trying mothers. I have a good mind to join the Army, Henry …. How many offers has she had? Damn them!"

"Jonathan, you know I do not like oaths."

"Neither does she," said Jonathan, looking away. "I beg your pardon, it is only — I had thought your living in Clunbury would at least shield her from a too universal admiration. Whyever did you send her to Bath?"

Henry, confronted with _two_ questions he had no desire to answer, chose the one he might address without exposing his sister. He said, somewhat flustered, "I would not say she has had more than one offer of marriage. The others were not serious."

Jonathan looked dismayed. "The others! What others?"

"You must recall she has many friends in this country," said Henry. "Most of whom have brothers and cousins and uncles …. "

"I have not been accustomed to regarding the entire male population of Shropshire in the light of potential enemies, Henry, but you are making me very ready to begin."

Henry experienced the sensation he often experienced when speaking with Jonathan Strange, that the conversation had slipped its leash and gone haring off in unintended directions in unfamiliar regions.

"Well," he said, by way of returning the conversation to a more intelligible footing, "Arabella has not so far accepted any offers, so you need not make an enemy of anyone. You may not know it, but Arabella has a great deal of discrimination, and she is not easily swayed by what others think."

"Don't I know it!" said Jonathan. He surveyed Henry's shrubbery with a jaundiced eye. "I suppose none of her other suitors drink or gamble or flir — have fashionable friends."

"Not nearly so much as you do," said Henry, reflecting. "No. But surely Arabella does not demand that you abandon any of those pursuits, or your friends."

"No. But she cannot help showing that she does not think me serious."

Henry agreed with Arabella, but he suspected it would be impolitic to say so. Instead he said, "You have never desired to be seen as serious before."

Jonathan felt Henry was being obtuse.

"I have never wished to marry before!" he said. "That is, not anyone for whom a lack of seriousness would be a real objection." 

At Henry's expression he added hastily, "But that is the point, Henry, do you see? I have never been really attached before. If any other woman had told me I ought to visit my father more, or find an occupation, I should simply have stopped calling on her. You know I am not remarkable for my patience."

"But does Arabella advise you to do those things?" said Henry, his brow creasing. If his sister felt she had a right to tell Jonathan Strange what to do, their connection must be much further advanced than Henry had thought, and it worried him that he had heard nothing of it. Jonathan's reply reassured him, however.

"Oh, she would not presume to comment," he said irritably. "She only talks of how other fellows are paragons of virtue. I could wish she felt free to blackguard me. Then I could hope — but why should she take any trouble with me? She thinks me a coxcomb, no better than any vain, heartless fellow to be met on Bond Street. While she is the only woman for me! But I cannot seem to make her believe it."

Henry hesitated, but he felt it was his duty both as a friend and a brother to say what was awkward. Arabella would certainly not have held back. "Well, you know, Jonathan, you said the same of Miss Blackwood."

"Who?" said Jonathan, who was wondering whether a judicious lack of attention to his attire might persuade Miss Woodhope of his seriousness. Perhaps she thought he took too much care of his linen. He must tell Payne not to take such pains over his neckcloths. It was a waste of time — pure vanity. "Oh, Marianne! You misled me by saying Blackwood. She is Mrs. Summerill now, you know — or Summerton — a name of that sort. But that was a different feeling altogether."

"You would not have said so six months ago."

"Six months ago I did not know your sister as I do now," snapped Jonathan. "I do not deny I liked Marianne. No doubt she was very charming, but she did not possess any of the solid, lasting virtues necessary for a happy marriage. Now, your sister .... "

Whereupon Jonathan enumerated Miss Arabella Woodhope's virtues in such detail that Henry was soon convinced. Indeed Jonathan spoke at much greater length than suited Henry, for whom the topic staled earlier than it did for Jonathan: Arabella's excellent qualities were naturally of less interest to a brother than a lover.

The exchange concluded unsatisfactorily for both, however. When Jonathan sought Henry's aid in pressing his suit, Henry would only say doubtfully:

"Of course nothing would please me more than to be able to call you my brother. But I would not like to raise your hopes unduly. Once you are better acquainted with Arabella, you will see that there is very little _earthly_ influence can do to shake her resolve. But she can always be trusted to do what she thinks is right, which I am sure is a great comfort."

This did not comfort Jonathan at all, and from the tone of Henry's voice it was no consolation to him either. He was beginning to believe that perhaps, after all, his friend had found what he had always lacked, for all his advantages: a focus for his native energy and ability.

It was the timing of it that was so unfortunate! Henry, no less than Arabella, saw all the similarities between Jonathan Strange and the gentleman who had disappointed her. Though Arabella was a good girl — as good a sister as anyone could desire — she had her share of faults, not least of which was pride. Nothing seemed likelier, from what Jonathan had said, that his suit would founder upon that pride, and a promising match come to nothing. 

* * *

"You are not to quiz Arabella about Mr. Strange anymore, Gerard," Mrs. Webb said to Mr. Webb.

"Indeed! Why not? I had thought it was your especial delight."

"Only when I did not know how she felt. I believe I do now, and the fun has gone out of it. It is clear she misses him — she has not laughed nearly as much since he departed for Ashfair. And what if she was right? I have a dreadful lowering suspicion that she might be. Today Lady Brocklehurst was telling me that not a year ago Mr. Strange was making himself the talk of the town in Weymouth with his attentions to Marianne Blackwood. Everyone was persuaded they were engaged, and now she is married to a Mr. Somerfield."

"But he has not mentioned a Marianne Blackwood to me. If he ever spoke of a lady it was only of Miss Woodhope. Perhaps Lady Brocklehurst confused the names. Somerfield is not so unlike Strange."

"It pleases you to make light of it, Gerard, but you ought not. For all Arabella's composure she has a tender heart. It would make me wretched if I thought our meddling had led to her becoming attached to a gentleman who only sought to trifle with her affections."

"Jonathan Strange would not," Mr. Webb began, but he could offer no proof of Strange's constancy — indeed, their acquaintance had furnished plenty of evidence to the contrary — and he fell silent. Nor did he quiz Miss Woodhope any longer, not that this was any comfort to either of them.

Arabella was conscious that she was not in such spirits as she could wish to be, but it is not given to any of us to be happy all the time. She thought little of it till the day Captain Norbury declared himself.

Arabella had walked out with the Webbs to pick up a set of china they had ordered. She was lingering before the shop window, thinking of home — these days she often thought of her friends in Shropshire — when she saw a familiar face in the glass.

"Captain Norbury," she said, with a guilty start. The vision she had been contemplating of another face — not nearly as handsome, but as full of interest for Arabella — vanished. She turned and gave the captain her hand with particular warmth. "How do you do?"

Captain Norbury seemed pleased by her reception of him, but Arabella saw at once that he was not himself. He said he would walk with them a while, but he looked pale and distracted, giving her civil queries only brief responses. When the Webbs had gone some way before them, Captain Norbury interrupted Arabella's remarks on the weather to say abruptly:

"I hope you will forgive me, Miss Woodhope. I have no wish to cause awkwardness, but I confess I am come to the limits of my endurance. I believe you know what I have hoped for. I have little enough to offer, but what I have is yours. I am content to wait — I know you have a brother, and may not be thinking of — I should be happy to wait, if your heart is free, and if there is any chance that I may in time persuade you to return my sentiments. But if — if there is no hope, I should be obliged if you would tell me so. May I hope, in time, to prove myself worthy of engaging your affections? I beg you will feel at liberty to be honest."

This speech, tumbling brokenly from a pale countenance (and Captain Norbury looked handsomer than ever in his anguish), was deeply moving. 

Arabella was appalled, though not by what Captain Norbury had said. She had dreaded something of the sort for some time: he was too much attached to abandon his courtship of her absent an unequivocal refusal, but equally he was too diffident and sensitive to wish to continue wooing one who gave him no encouragement. It was not his words that made her turn pale and put her hand to her throat. It was her own reaction to them.

For there was nothing she would have liked so much as to assure him, at least, that her affections were unengaged. But she could not say that truthfully. Her heart was not free. It had happened, after all, despite her best intentions. She knew now that Jonathan Strange was vital to her comfort, and there was nothing she or Captain Norbury or anyone else could do to change it.

She held out her hands to him, scarcely thinking of how the gesture might be taken. But Captain Norbury had already seen his answer in her countenance.

"I cannot say how very much I am honoured, sir, by your declaration," she said in a low voice. "I fear I cannot offer anything more in return than my friendship, but that you will always have. My friendship, and my esteem. I am sorry it is nothing more!"

Captain Norbury took her hands. His were rather cold, but he said steadily:

"It is a great deal. I am obliged to you, Miss Woodhope. I knew I could trust in your candour."

"I am very, very sorry," said Arabella.

"I beg — " said Captain Norbury, but he paused, looking beyond Arabella and frowning. 

She looked around and saw Jonathan Strange. He stood across the street, staring openly at them, looking electrified. His hair sprung away from his head and his eyes were burning in a rigid countenance.

Arabella snatched her hands away, blushing. Mrs. Webb cried behind her:

"Why, there you are, my dear! I thought we had lost you!" 

Captain Norbury mumbled, "Good day, ma'am" and departed in confusion, and to crown all, Mr. Webb's voice could be heard saying:

"Why, there is Strange! Strange, I did not know you had returned to town. Are you engaged this evening? You must come to dinner."

* * *

Mr. Strange did not come to dinner, to Arabella's relief. It had been awkward enough to be in attendance while he conversed with Mr. Webb, both Arabella and Jonathan striving to look unconscious of one another. This gave Mrs. Webb a great deal of encouragement, but Arabella herself was in a state of too much confusion to know what to think of how Mr. Strange looked. She was conscious of a desire never to see him again — and yet she was disappointed when he did not call the next day.

She was not left long in peace to abuse herself for her susceptibility, however. Mr. Strange was ushered into the drawing room where Mrs. Webb and Arabella sat the day after. Arabella's heart gave one bound, though she could not tell if it was with delight or alarm — and then Elizabeth abandoned her!

"You will forgive me, I know, Mr. Strange — urgent message — cannot be put off — " But Mrs. Webb did not trouble to strive to impart any plausibility to her excuse. Though Arabella cast her a wounded look, she knew perfectly well Mr. Strange was not listening to her at all.

Arabella's feelings when left alone with what she now knew to be the object of her affections can be conceived. She did herself a signal favour, however, by looking Mr. Strange full in the face when he asked her how she did. 

He looked exceedingly cross. This made Arabella more comfortable at once. She felt so friendly towards Mr. Strange for looking so unromantic that she said, with more warmth than she might otherwise have been capable of:

"I have been well, sir, thank you. And I hope you found your father well? It was good of you to put yourself out on his account."

"Yes, it would have been good if I had been of any use to him," said Jonathan. "However, it was not in my power to help." He clasped his hands, looking annoyed with himself. After a moment he said:

"To own the truth, I have never been any good to my father. It was stupid to think I might be capable of anything but provoking him. I have no talent he would recognise — no ability he would value. Doubtless the blame for that is mine, but even if I were not so lacking, Father would never accept anything from me. He likes to feel all the obligation is on my side." He looked down, his face in shadow.

"He tormented my mother with her dependence upon him, too," he added in a low voice. "I believe it always vexed him that it was her portion that gave him his start."

He seemed a different person from the Jonathan Strange she had seen before — and yet she recognised him. Arabella wished suddenly that she had the right to comfort him. She knew just how she would do it: how she would sit at his feet and caress his face. She could almost see how he would look at her, startled and pleased, recalled to the present and his delight in her. He would raise her up, and she would make him forget his sorrow.

Her cheeks grew warm. She said:

"That must have been difficult to bear."

"There is not a day goes past that I do not think of her," Jonathan said, without affectation or self-pity. "Poor Mother! It is one thing that she is dead. There are worse things than death. If only I could believe she had been happy!"

Arabella had of course known how unpleasant Mr. Laurence Strange was. She had only seen him once or twice; she had never met him, to speak of, at all, but his reputation preceded him in Shropshire. She had heard all the stories of how he had used his wife — knew the sad, unnerving tales of how Mrs. Strange used to walk the hills in her black dress, even in the cruellest weather.

But Mrs. Strange had died when Jonathan was young and Arabella younger. Arabella remembered the stories of her more than she remembered the lady herself. She had not realised how much Jonathan yet treasured the memory of his mother. He was capable of constancy, then — of depth of feeling. But even as the thought passed through her mind, she felt ashamed of herself for ever having doubted it.

"I am sorry!" she began, but she was not permitted to dwell upon the various wrongs she had done Mr. Strange in thought, or to say what she wished in atonement. 

Jonathan had nearly persuaded himself that Arabella must be engaged, and he had decided to call to see if he could find out the truth of the matter. He had been speaking so freely in part out of a sense of recklessness. It almost certainly did not matter what he said any longer: it was all over, and she was out of his reach forever, so he might as well be natural. 

But in his fortnight away he had forgotten a great many things about Arabella, which now impressed themselves painfully upon his consciousness. She was prettier than he had recalled, her smile more heartbreakingly lovely. He had forgotten how it felt to have those brown eyes fixed upon him — how they seemed to see all he felt and thought, everything he meant and did not mean. How sweet that gaze was, and how delightful the way her mouth trembled at times, when she thought no one was looking, as though she were enjoying a secret joke.

All this would be Norbury's. And he would not know to appreciate it — how could he? The bitterness of the thought of such riches being wasted upon a man with no sense of humour compelled Jonathan to speak, though he scarcely knew what he said.

"How is Captain Norbury?" he said abruptly. "I believe I saw him walking with you the other day, though he had to leave. I suppose he had business to attend to?"

"Oh!" said Arabella. "I do not know. I believe he was engaged to see a friend. A friend who has seen some misfortune recently. Captain Norbury was very anxious not to be late on that account."

Arabella had not quite invented this friend out of whole cloth. She was almost certain Captain Norbury had mentioned something of the sort before he declared himself, but the accuracy of what she said seemed less important than avoiding any risk of giving away what Captain Norbury had said to her, and why he had felt it necessary to hurry away. She did not mean to provoke Mr. Strange, but her words seemed to have this effect all the same.

"He is a good fellow!" said Mr. Strange.

"He is most conscientious."

"Perfectly good," said Mr. Strange, scowling, "and perfectly dull!"

"Mr. Strange!" exclaimed Arabella.

"Oh yes, that was ungentlemanly!" said Jonathan. "I will not beg your pardon, however. The only disservice I have done is to myself. Why should Captain Norbury care? His happiness is assured, for I suppose you will end by marrying him!"

"What if I do?" retorted Arabella, all her sympathy quite forgotten. "What have you to say to it?"

"Nothing," said Jonathan. He leapt to his feet and took a turn around the room, his very hair seeming to bristle with indignation. "I have not the least right to say anything. I am nothing to you. I am well aware of that. All the same, I shall tell you what I would say if I had the right. I would say you ought not to marry him."

"And why not?" said Arabella, flinging her head back.

Jonathan screwed up his face as though he were about to throw a great insult at her.

"Because," he said, "you ought to marry me!"

Arabella had not expected this. Her first impulse was to laugh, and she bent her head to hide it. An absurd wave of happiness swept over her. She was smiling despite herself, but it occurred to her that there was no reason why she should not look at him. He would only think she was laughing at him.

"Now that is out!" she said, looking up without troubling to suppress her smile. "Do you feel better for it?"

Jonathan glared at her, but he said, in a tone of surprise:

"I do."

"You might have said it right away, instead of abusing poor Captain Norbury."

"Oh, no doubt!" said Jonathan, but he was not interested in Captain Norbury. He put his hands behind his back and looked down at her. His manner recalled that of a boy who desperately desires a favour — a holiday, perhaps, or a new cricket bat — but knows how unlikely it is that it will be granted to him.

"Surely it must be evident what my hopes have been," he said. "You must know how I adore you. The greatest happiness I could conceive would be to have you as my wife. You must know it is for this that I have strived — " He looked up and caught Arabella's eye. All at once his air of supplication was replaced by indignation. "Why, you do know!"

"Indeed I have not known it," said Arabella with dignity, though her smile would keep breaking out. She could feel it tugging at the edges of her mouth.

"Then why do you smile at me so? As though you enjoyed my discomfiture!"

Even in Arabella's flurry of spirits she was conscious that all her reservations still existed. Her reasons for wishing not to permit Jonathan Strange to attach her to himself possessed all their old force. He liked her: very good, but she had already known that. She liked him — well, that was worse!

But it would be worst of all to be rushed into committing herself by a gentleman who, despite his every virtue (and Arabella was prepared to believe him possessed of every virtue Nature can bestow, though none that _nurture_ must instill), was remarkable for his want of prudence. They could both only suffer from it if she allowed herself to be swept away now.

"Well," she said, "it is an odd way to declare yourself, you know! Surely I may be diverted by it without being accused of vanity. I am not quite so puffed up after two months in Bath to have assumed you meant anything serious by your attentions."

"No, why should you have thought so?" said Jonathan, insulted. "You have never taken me seriously at all. But I love you. You may laugh, but you cannot prevent my saying it — no, nor meaning it. I have loved you, I believe, as long as I have known you. Do you recall when I found you defending that kitten from those boys?"

"You do not mean to say you were attached to me then."

"I believe it began then. I was young — a fool — but even then I noticed what an extraordinary — "

"But you cannot have loved me then, you know," said Arabella. "I was only eleven."

Jonathan gave her a black look. "You will permit me to say, Arabella, that I have never in my life known anyone so given to contradiction!"

Arabella bridled. "I do not recall giving you the liberty to address me so, sir — "

"Call me Jonathan."

"Certainly not."

"To you, I cannot be anything but Jonathan," said Jonathan, kneeling before her. He caught one of her hands. Despite herself, Arabella let him retain it. "As you cannot be anything but Arabella to me. It is not as though we have ever stood on ceremony with one another." He smiled and pressed something into her hand.

It was a handkerchief: a scrap of cambric, embroidered laboriously with the initials _AW_.

"Why!" said Arabella, and laughed in recognition. "This is mine!"

"I have kept it all these years," said Jonathan. "I return it now, but only in the hope that you will permit me to exchange it for — "

"No," said Arabella.

Jonathan looked irritated. "You did not know what I was about to ask."

"Do you know, I believe I do," said Arabella reflectively. She held up a hand, forestalling him. "Listen to me, Jonathan." 

She blushed as she said the name, but it worked. He settled back. 

"We have not known each other — really known each other — for so very long," said Arabella. "I do not count a handful of exchanges in Clunbury churchyard. Before you commit yourself, or I can make any promise, we ought to satisfy ourselves that we would make one another happy."

"I am perfectly satisfied that no one else could make me nearly as — "

"I beg you will not interrupt," said Arabella. "I am not."

"What can I do to convince you? I shall give up drinking and cards and horses. One only does that sort of thing because one's friends all do it, but I never cared for any of that. I do not care for anything except you. Why do not you believe me?"

"I do believe you. Do not you see, that is the difficulty!" cried Arabella. "You cannot possibly hang all your hopes of happiness upon me, Jonathan, even if it is only earthly happiness that concerns you. You who are blessed with all the advantages of life ... you ought to have an occupation for your thoughts, a focus for your activity."

"I will join the Army — the Navy — the House of Commons — whatever you like. If only you will say — "

Arabella laid a finger against his lips. Jonathan shivered and fell silent. She blushed, but she did not look away.

"All I wish," she said, "is for you to wait. It ought not to be the sole business of your life to pursue your own pleasure, but nor should it be the business of your life to study to please me. I could not leave Henry now in any case, before he has established himself."

She cut herself off, but it was too late: she had said more than she intended. Jonathan had not of course missed the concession. He brightened wonderfully, and she could not regret her lapse.

"I will wait forever, if needs be," he said, kissing her hand. "But what would you have me do in the meantime?"

Arabella laughed: he was so dear and so absurd.

"Think!" she said. "Indeed, I hope it will not be forever. That would not be fair to either of us, and it would be most unjust to poor Henry. I should hope someone with a living in their possession will recognise his merits sooner than that. But a little time will not hurt us — or if it does," she added, looking into his face a little wistfully, "it is better that we should learn that before we have made any promises."

"I consider myself bound," said Jonathan. "But you need not scold me for it. I shall believe it entirely for my own pleasure."

"Well! So long as you do not believe _I_ have agreed to anything foolish," said Arabella, attempting to disentangle her hands from his. Jonathan let her go reluctantly.

"Not yet," he allowed, but a gleam of devilry lit his face. "Not quite yet. But you will — soon enough!"


End file.
